


Heavy is the head that wears the crown

by DmitriMolotov



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Achievement Hunter Kings, Betrayal, Blood, Body Horror, Death, Eye Trauma, Gen, Gore, Immortals, Medical Procedures, Stitches, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-11-22 08:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11376204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DmitriMolotov/pseuds/DmitriMolotov
Summary: Ryan did what he had to do. The people needed a leader, a better one than they had.Few things appeased the masses as much as treason.But with the crown came with secrets that only Death knew...When fallen kings can rise again, choosing sides is only half the battle and there are many things worse than death.A one-shot prompt onTumblrinspired its own AU... Every chapter fulfills a different torture/gore prompt, but the story is continuous.





	1. Usurper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backstabbed, Horns, Geoff.
> 
> Prompt by [Enigmog](http://enigmog.tumblr.com/).

Geoff had run. He knew it was foolish, futile. If it had been anyone else in his place he would’ve told them so too. But his legs carried him faster and farther in a futile attempt to put distance between himself and the creature Ryan had set upon him.

_Few things appeased the masses as much as treason._

There was no escaping the high walls of the stadium. He was only delaying the inevitable.

Ryan had turned the whole kingdom against him and now it was simply a matter of disposing of the one thing that stood between him and claiming the crown.

Geoff had trusted Ryan. Adopted him like family, like a brother; a trusted advisor and friend. And this was how he repaid him.

_Traitor._

_Usurper._

_Backstabber._

So Geoff ran.

Ryan kept the beast blooded but well-fed; it knew its purpose. It didn’t kill for food, it killed for fun and the people loved him for it.

Geoff never thought he’d be the one facing its wrath.

Far behind him he could hear the monster’s hooves pounding the hard, dry ground of the arena. He knew the sight well; dust being thrown up under heavy footfalls as the beast built speed, its muscular human-like body far more agile than it looked, supporting the weight of the monstrous bull-head. It’s nostrils spewed forth steam and it foamed at the mouth, while its long ebony horns gleamed in the midday sun. He’d seen those same horns skewer dozens of victims before now. Ryan’s abominable Minotaur was gaining on him, he could hear the snarling roars, imagined the sour breath on the back of his neck.

He suddenly stumbled over his own feet; out of breath, legs struggling to keep up; his arms pinwheeled wildly but it did little to keep him upright. He landed hard on his knees and sprawled forward in a cloud of dust. The stadium roared around him. Cheers and cries for his blood went up as the monster made up ground.

_Get up._

His legs ignored the command.

_Get. Up._

His brain screamed at his body to obey.

He could hear the monster’s thunderous footsteps closing the distance.

Finally, reluctantly, he found his feet.

He knew the beast was behind him.

This time, he didn’t run. He didn’t turn around. He stood tall and defiant before the crowd, hiding the fear firmly planted in the pit of his stomach.

He sought out one set of eyes.

_Ryan._

Ryan’s eyes immediately locked on his and his eyebrow quirked upwards in surprise at Geoff’s last-minute boldness.

For a split second, Geoff felt every bit the rightful King he was.

He convulsed as the beast charged into him at full-force, it’s head was lowered so that the long, sharp horns were levelled at Geoff’s torso. They pierced the skin of his back and skewered him, running him clean through. He could feel the hot breath on his back. Geoff coughed and the taste of blood instantly filled his mouth. He looked down to see the bloody tips of the horns protruding from his chest. 

The creature lifted its head and Geoff was raised up off his feet. He kicked and gasped for breath but could barely find any; both his lungs had likely been punctured by the creature’s horns and the strain on his body was stretching the wounds open. The pain was excruciating. Every movement from the creature was agony afresh.

Geoff screamed a desperate and guttural howl; even the crowd hushed at the sound. He couldn’t find the strength to hold himself upright and fell back against the monster’s horns, groaning in pain. The damage had been done.

The creature spun around, raising its muscled, human-like arms in victory to the cheers of the crowd before obediently sinking to one knee as Ryan approached.

The Minotaur lowered its head and with a slight shake, dislodged Geoff from its horns. He slid towards the earth, landing with a thump in a puff of dust that caused him to cough and struggle for breath again. Blood trickled from his mouth. With a final effort, he rolled onto his back and glared up at Ryan.

The beast shook its head violently, showering Geoff and Ryan with a mist of blood from its long horns.

Ryan was hardly disturbed.

He reached down to pluck the crown from Geoff’s head. The sudden absence sent a chill down his spine.

Geoff’s hand snapped up instinctively to grab Ryan’s wrist, pulling him down so he could hear; Geoff’s voice barely more than a coarse croak. 

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown, Ryan.”

Ryan snorted in response as he shook Geoff’s hand free and donned the crown.

He turned to face his new subjects, arms outstretched.

“The King is dead,” he announced, “Long live the King!”

The new King’s lips twitched into a cruel but pleased smirk as he turned on his heel and left the former king bleeding on the ground, barely clinging to life. He didn’t need to see the rest. The beast, as if sensing his master’s mood quickly lost interest and with a stamp of its hoof, snarled and left the fallen king to his fate.

Geoff took one last shuddering breath and smiled to himself as the world faded to black.

Ryan had much to learn about the secrets of the crown.

_This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot._


	2. Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Body Horror, Ryan.  
> Prompt by [Alleywolf0317](https://alleywolf0317.tumblr.com/).

Ryan took a deep sip from the cup that had been left by his bedside and massaged his temples. Even on the battlefields he maintained a strict routine and his staff knew it. His tent was bigger, but certainly no more luxurious than his officers’. When he was fighting he was their leader, but he was still a soldier, not just their King. The only thing that distinguished him from his men was his crown, claimed from the fallen King Geoff.

The Coward King.

Ryan cringed as he removed his royal red cloak and pulled down the neck of his shirt to examine the bloody but superficial wound on his shoulder. He’d seen few injuries on the battlefield, not for lack of action, but because he was an exceptionally skilled soldier and he had earned the respect of his men by leading the charge wherever possible.

Michael’s armies had been pushing back hard; Michael himself was rumoured to be joining the ranks at the front line in the coming days. Ryan scoffed to think Geoff would have happily shared the Kingdom with him rather than making a stand. It no longer mattered. Ryan’s forces had thinned, but they were still better equipped to deal with the terrain and he had no doubt they would emerge victorious; claiming another land under his rule. But no more for today.

Ryan sighed; pressed a boiled cloth to the wound, hissing in breath as he did and took another deep swig from his cup.

An unfamiliar tang hit the back of his throat as he swallowed.

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown, Ryan.” A familiar voice drifted in from where his staff usually slept.

It registered, but all of Ryan’s attention was now diverted to the burning sensation creeping down his oesophagus.

_ Geoff. _

He felt like his throat was on fire and it wasn’t relenting, only spreading downward into his stomach.

“What is this?” Ryan gasped, clutching his throat, “You’re supposed to be dead.”

It felt like Ryan was burning from the inside out.

Geoff stepped out from behind the dividing curtain. His boots left bloodied footprints as he walked toward Ryan. Ryan could see the lifeless arm of one of his loyal attendants laying in a pool of blood peeking out from behind the curtain and cursed himself for not noticing sooner.

“Feeling heavy yet?”

Ryan swallowed, trying to quench the burning to no avail. “You’re dead. I saw you die.”

“You thought you’d only have to kill me once?”

Ryan’s mind scrambled to make sense of Geoff’s cryptic words, while his insides churned and his stomach sank. The burning was radiating out now, spreading through his organs as if they were being eaten away from the inside. He’d broken into a cold sweat.

Geoff just smirked, watching him squirm.

“What have you done, Geoff?”

A spasm hit his abdomen and he doubled over, clutching his gut. He let out a pained grunt. His shirt was soaked through… He looked down.

_ Blood. _

“What…?” He hissed through clenched teeth as with bloody, shaking hands he tore open his shirt to see the injury he must have somehow failed to notice until now.

_ Oh gods… _

His skin looked wrong. Too thin, almost transparent in places, like it was stretching in others… and where his belly button had been, a gaping hole, widening as the tissue appeared to melt around it.

_ “What have you done to me?!” _

Ryan could see his intestines writhing beneath viscera as he moved, his organs sliding over each other as the surrounding tissue was slowly eaten away.

He finally tore his eyes away to look up at Geoff, a smug smirk on his face.

“I know a few things about potions…”

Ryan dropped to his knees, clutching at his organs as they tried to snake their way out of his body, some of them dissolving into the same dark goop that had become of the rest of him in his hands.

He suddenly couldn’t breathe as his lungs began to become affected. He took futile gulps of air that went nowhere. Everything burned. Searing white hot pain. His midsection was virtually gone, his lower ribs exposed, the crests of his hipbones and vertebrae becoming visible as the goop continued to melt away, dissolving more of his flesh with it. It was consuming him, but somehow he was not yet dead.

_ How? _

He mouthed the word, unable to draw breath to speak it.

“The crown has many secrets Ryan,” Geoff mused cryptically.

What remained of Ryan’s organs spilled out of him, a mess of black liquid, blood and whatever contents of his bowel remained; the smell alone would’ve made him gag if he’d had the capacity to. Instead he stared, wide eyed at the horror in front of him, clutching his now-exposed ribcage, wondering how, why he wasn’t dead. His heart fluttered madly in his chest, pumping nothing through his system. His brain screamed for air and the world spun, but he lived.

“Relinquish the crown, Ryan, and it can be over.”

_ A trick. It was a trick. It had to be. A ploy for the crown. _

A noise of some sort escaped him as he fell forward, unable to support the weight of what remained of his upper body as all that remained of his torso was his spine and ribs; the bones blackened to match the goop that had become of his internal organs, the fabric of his shirt dissolving away where it had contacted. The skin of his hands was beginning to melt away, sticking to the hard dirt floor as he fell to his forearms.

_ Hell of a trick.  _ His oxygen-starved brain retorted.

His world had become pain. He writhed involuntarily. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

“You want Death to take you?” Geoff asked. His eyes were almost sympathetic as he knelt next to Ryan and unfastened his tunic. He opened it to reveal two circular scars on his chest, where the Minotaur had skewered him with its horns - what should have been a fatal injury. “Death doesn’t take our kind, I’m afraid.”

Ryan’s eyes widened, he didn’t need to speak for Geoff to know what he was thinking.

_ What are you? _

“I am the first. And through taking the crown, you have become like me. Death will never come for you while you wear the crown.”

Ryan reached a nearly skeletal hand up to touch the crown that still sat atop his head. Bone clinked against the metal and he recoiled.

“But she will never keep you now that you have worn it.”

Things slowly began to fall into place as Ryan comprehended his words.

He wanted the pain to stop.

He slowly removed the crown and placed it at Geoff’s feet.

Immediately his body began to die.

“This isn’t over, Ryan. When you return, and eventually you will. Think carefully about your next move.”

Ryan shuddered as finally the pain dissipated into oblivion and Death mercifully came for him.


	3. Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stitches, Jeremy  
> Prompt by Anonymous

Jeremy was one of Ryan’s most loyal soldiers. He’d refused promotion in favour of fighting alongside his fellow men and it was something that Ryan had always admired in him; something Ryan had confessed he had recognized in himself. It made them both proud to fight alongside each other. According to Jeremy’s wishes, Ryan had never promoted him, but rather the two had become close friends and Jeremy often served to advise Ryan in matters of his men in an unofficial manner. That hadn’t changed after Ryan assumed the crown, but because of the extra attention it brought on Ryan, they had to be more discreet about their meetings.

Before the sun broke over the mountainous terrain, before the troops arose, Jeremy made his way to the King’s tent, as he often did, to meet with him privately.

He double checked he wasn’t being watched, pushed aside the heavy curtain to Ryan’s tent and slipped inside.

Inside, no lamps or candles had been lit and it was still dark. A figure sat at the edge of the bed, already awake. There was movement from the staff’s quarters. Ryan must have woken one of his trusted eunuchs to attend him.

“Ryan?” Jeremy called quietly.

The King’s head snapped around, started by the sound and Jeremy immediately knew this wasn’t his King.

“Who’s there?” The man’s voice was familiar, but Jeremy couldn’t place it right away.

“Who the fuck are you? Where’s Ryan?” Jeremy’s hand went straight to the hilt of his dagger he kept in his belt.

“Who the fuck are _you_ to be letting yourself into the King’s quarters unannounced before dawn?”

A larger man with a full red beard – definitely not one of Ryan’s miniscule eunuchs – emerged from the staff quarters with a candle that illuminated the room in a soft glow.

Jeremy felt all the colour drain from his face.

_“Geoff?”_

Geoff’s eyes narrowed. “Jeremy?” He snorted a laugh, recognising Jeremy as one of the soldiers that had served under Ryan before he had taken the throne. “What are _you_ doing in the King’s tent?”

“You’re supposed to be dead…” Jeremy stammered.

Geoff scoffed, “that’s exactly what Ryan said, go figure.”

Jeremy looked over at the man holding the candle; he recognized him now as Jack, Geoff’s herald when he held the crown – _as he did now_ , Jeremy realised with a sense of dread.

“Where is he? What have you done with Ryan?”

Geoff smiled darkly, “the same thing he did to me…”

Jeremy struggled to understand, he saw Geoff die. He watched the Minotaur run him through. It was a fatal wound. It _should_ have been a fatal wound.

_Was Ryan dead?_

“Jeremy,” Geoff’s authoritative voice snapped him out of it, “ _I’m_ your King now.”

Jeremy bit his lip as his eyes flicked to Jack, the kindly older man giving him a look of caution.

Jeremy’s mind raced. He was always loyal to Ryan – even when Geoff had been King – _He could be executed on the spot for treason…_

He dropped to one knee and bowed his head.

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“That’s better. Now. Jeremy,” Geoff tilted his head inquisitively, “what exactly are you doing here?”

Jeremy swallowed hard, “I…” He tried to think of a lie, but the only thing he could come up with was they’d been sleeping together and he imagined that would carry a harsher punishment than the truth; at least amongst the soldiers if word was to get out… He sighed, admitting, “Ryan trusts me.”

Geoff smirked, “he trusts you?”

Jeremy nodded. “I keep him informed of his soldiers,” he explained, “He likes to know what they think of him, what they think of the plans, he knows they won’t tell him honestly, they fear him too much.”

Jack shook his head slightly, looking disappointed, but still said nothing.

“Fear _ed_.” Geoff corrected and Jeremy felt his stomach drop as he bowed his head again to hide the look of pain that crossed his face.

“They have nothing to fear now. But I think they deserve to know how you betrayed them…”

Jeremy’s head snapped up, eyes wide, “what?”

There was something dangerous in Geoff’s look. He didn’t trust it. All his instinct said to get out.

So he did.

 

Jeremy tore out of the tent and ran for the woods, not stopping nor slowing, forgetting everything; just wanting to put as much distance between himself and the camp as possible. It wasn’t until he reached the tree-line that he thought to check to see if he’d been followed.

Nothing.

He kept running.

After a few sharp turns leading him further into the forest, Jeremy finally slowed, now certain he wasn’t being immediately followed and far enough outside the camp he shouldn’t be spotted by Ryan’s scouts. No longer _Ryan’s_ scouts… He took a deep breath, shaking with adrenaline and fear.

He pressed his back against a tree and tried to collect himself.

He couldn’t go back to his own men. Ryan’s men were loyal, but they were loyal to the crown, regardless of who wore it. They had been loyal to Geoff before Ryan had risen and they would be loyal again if he intended to lead them home. It was no secret that few of them wanted to be there. Even fewer would question a decision to retreat, or the opportunity of an alliance, no matter how costly it may prove in the long run. Jeremy had his reservations about Geoff’s motives originally, but he had seen him in the arena – he saw the wounds the Minotaur caused. He should be dead. And where was Ryan? What had Geoff done?

He couldn’t go back. It was too far to return to the kingdom on foot, and Geoff would send a messenger to give word of his return if he hadn’t already. He’d be executed on sight.

_Shit._

He only had one option. Keep moving. Maybe he could appeal to Michael’s men, convince them he had defected to join their cause; when they got word of Geoff’s return and he arranged for an alliance to be made, perhaps would be allowed to remain in Michael’s army.

_Maybe there was a chance Ryan wasn’t dead…_

He knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up. He took a deep breath and started walking, heading in the general direction of the enemy camp.

He’d barely been walking an hour, the sun only just starting to warm the earth and with it, Jeremy’s bones. He was beginning to become wary that the enemy scouts may already be on patrol. He’d been distracted thinking about what might have become of Ryan and his servants. Unfortunately, he was not yet wary enough to notice the slight shift of the terrain beneath his feet as his next step saw the leaf litter he’d been walking on give way and he tumbled forward into a deep pit. A wooden stake protruded from the ground beneath him. He saw too late. Momentum carried him forward and there was nothing he could do to avoid it. The wooden spike dug into the side of his leg and tore through the muscle, leaving a deep gash in his calf and he cried out in pain. He bit back his scream, quickly realising he’d fallen into a troup de loup, no doubt dug out by Michael’s troops. It would be monitored. He cringed as he pulled the head of the pike from his leg, realising it had been slicked down with something that smelled horrible and left dirty brown streaks on his skin.

 _Shit._ Probably literally.

If left untreated, he would surely succumb to infection and in all likelihood, die. He inspected the wound; it was bleeding freely and he could see where the layers of skin and fat opened into redder muscle tissue underneath. It would need to be stitched to heal as well. _Wonderful._ Thinking quickly and trying to hold down the contents of his stomach while holding back grunts of pain, he tore a strip of cloth from his burgundy tunic and wound it around his leg to hold the gash closed and try to stem the bleeding. There was no way he could climb out on his own, especially with an injury like this.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, he didn’t have to wait long.

“Ooh, we got something!”

Jeremy looked up, ready to start defending himself or pledge loyalty to Michael’s army, or whatever else it took to survive.

A pair of shaggy-looking heads clad in furs and skins peered over the lip of the hole, smirking down at him.

“Looks like a scout… no…” the scout cocked her head to one side, studying him, “…a deserter.”

“What makes you say that?” The other asked.

“He’s not outfitted, he’s either fled, or wandered off pissed and gotten lost. Either way this means their camp is close.”

Jeremy cleared his throat rather deliberately and they both looked down at him. “I could have told you that,” he suggested boldly, “if you’d asked.”

The girl snorted a laugh. “So we _do_ have a deserter on our hands… how interesting. Let’s get him back to camp.”

The walk back to the camp wasn’t far but it was excruciating on his leg, which had started bleeding heavily from the exertion, soaking through his makeshift bandages. The pair of scouts had confiscated his dagger and bound his hands behind his back so he couldn’t try anything; not that he was sure what he would’ve tried if they hadn’t, his options seemed very limited. Still, they pushed him mercilessly onwards, shoving him harshly when he stumbled and dragging him up by his hair when he fell. Eventually they made it back to the camp and headed straight for the prisoner’s hold – a crude, cage-like structure weighted down with heavy rocks. It was empty save for a pair of Michael’s own men – likely being held for drunken hooliganism. Jeremy was just thankful he didn’t have to walk anymore.

“You should’ve blindfolded him,” the man watching over the prisoners muttered as he unbolted the door to the cell, “if we ransom him back he could lead others back here.”

“Please, he’s not leaving here alive.”

Jeremy’s heart skipped a beat at the thought, but he didn’t lose hope. With Geoff back as King, he’d be more interested in restoring the truce between the Kingdoms than pursuing war for the territories like Ryan was.

The gaoler kicked the two men awake with his boot and shooed them away with a warning littered with profanities in a dialect that Jeremy didn’t fully understand.

"Caught him trying to defect," girl explained.

The gaoler shrugged. "Traitor’s no good to anyone then. I’ll put him out of his misery if we can’t get a good trade for him; the troops haven’t had any entertainment since we left the city. Might be good for morale.”

“Wait, wait, wait! I’m useful!” The words were out of Jeremy’s mouth before he could stop them. “I was advisor to King Ryan! Please!”

“Looking to sell secrets for protection then?” The girl scoffed. “You wouldn’t be the first. Why should we believe you?”

Jeremy gaped, unsure of what to say next. So much had happened in the last few hours – they probably didn’t even know of Geoff’s return, that Ryan might be…

The other rolled his eyes at Jeremy’s dumbstruck face. “Forget it, see what Lord Michael says.”

Jeremy’s stomach dropped. Ryan had said Michael was coming out to the front, but not that he’d be this close by now. The gaoler locked him inside and left him to wait it out in a cold sweat.

* * *

It was late morning before anyone came for him, but when they did, it was no less than Lord Michael himself, accompanied by a handful of men who looked to be his trusted soldiers.

Like Jeremy had been to Ryan.

Jeremy was dizzy from blood loss and the hot, throbbing pain in his leg made him worry about infection; but the way Michael’s soldiers eyed him through the bars, he was starting to doubt he’d live long enough for that to be a problem.

Michael eyed Jeremy up and down, scowling at the gaping, bloody gash on his leg. “See to his wound. Clean it, then stitch it; we’ll send him back in good condition.”

_Back?_

“Please, you can't-” Jeremy started but was cut off.

“Part of the negotiations with King Geoff. We return all prisoners.”

“-but my grace…”

“There's something else you can stitch, when you're done with his leg.” Michael addressed the medic, ignoring Jeremy entirely. “Might help get some peace around here.”

The medic simply nodded.

Michael and most of his soldiers turned to leave, he was likely busy arranging new travel for the return of his army and his own trip to Geoff’s territories to negotiate the terms of whatever alliance Geoff had proposed. Jeremy was still sceptical.

The handful of men that remained included the apparent medic. Jeremy was still bound and hardly a threat; once the gaoler had unlocked the cell, the medic approached with his kit and a single assistant – an extra pair of hands more than anything.

“S’pose we’d better get you stitched up then… We don’t much appreciate spies here. But then, I don’t imagine many do.” The medic smirked cruelly. “Don’t worry, I’m a loyalist. I do what my lord says, and he says to fix you up, so I’ll fix ya' up.”

The medic retrieved some kind of bottled liquid – likely alcohol or a strong potion to ward off infection, and a needle and thread from his kit, using some of the liquid to coat his hands before threading the needle.

The other man, meanwhile, had snuck up behind Jeremy and wrestled him into a headlock, one hand on his head, with the crook of his elbow under his chin, holding his mouth firmly closed.

The medic crowded in on him, pinching Jeremy’s lips between his left thumb and forefinger, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

“See, I’m just a field medic. I never had to swear any of that Hippocratic oath nonsense… so first, I’ll do some harm.”

There was nothing Jeremy could do but screw his eyes shut and try to squirm away as he felt the needle pierce the skin of his face, the medic forcing it through with a ‘pop’. He could feel the tug of the thread as it pulled through the hole made by the needle, and then a sharp sting as it penetrated flesh again in his upper lip, the thread dragging through behind it. With nothing to dull the pain, it was excruciating as his sensitive lips were stitched, he did all he could to avoid crying out, the pain of pulling on the stitches not worth it. He felt tears squeeze out the corners of his eyes.

The medic made short work of his mouth, pulling the stitches taught so Jeremy could no longer open his mouth and tying them off. He finished with a quick splash of the liquid from the bottle, which was bitter and astringent and burned the fresh wounds. He could feel his mouth swelling from the trauma and knew it would hurt even more as it swelled around the stitches.

The medic finally turned his attention to Jeremy’s leg and the assistant let go of his head. Jeremy almost instantly collapsed under his own weight, unaware of just how lightheaded he’d become. He barely clung to consciousness, only aware of the sting of fresh pain in his leg as the medic emptied more of the contents of the bottle over the open and weeping gash and roughly wiped the excess fluid and filth away. As the medic cleaned and stitched the wound, the thread only pulled on the edge of his consciousness as reality faded to grey.


	4. Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eye Trauma, Jeremy  
> Prompt by [Equalistaden](http://equalistaden.tumblr.com/)

Jeremy awoke with a jump as the transport cart he was in hit a rock and lurched sideways. He was still behind bars, but now they were moving. His face felt swollen and everything hurt. His hands were still uncomfortably pinioned behind his back and he couldn’t feel his fingertips. He instinctively tried to lick his lips, but the taste of blood filled his mouth as the stitches tugged against his inflamed skin and all at once he remembered what Michael’s ‘medic’ had done to him. Now very conscious not to move his face too much, he glanced down to see the wound on his leg had been crudely cleaned and stitched as well.

_“We’ll send him back in good condition”_

He looked around. The sun was low in the sky now, he must have been out for some time. The same soldiers that had accompanied Michael before now travelled with the party. Michael was surely with them, likely heading the party.

Jeremy swallowed hard.

That meant they were headed back to Ry- _Geoff’s_ camp. Back to his men. As it was, with his mouth stitched shut, he couldn’t even negotiate with them. He wouldn’t be able to tell them what Geoff had done, that he only meant the best for them.

He had no idea how long they’d been travelling, but on horseback, even pulling the prison cart it wasn’t a long trip, and it wasn’t long before Jeremy started to recognise features of the landscape. The party came to a grinding halt as they approached the outskirts of the camp. An official party had ridden out to greet them – amongst them was Geoff’s herald, Jack. Jeremy was still too far away to hear properly, but several heads turned to look at him with toothy grins. It did nothing to calm his nerves.

After a brief discussion, the greeting party dismounted and led the collective back to the camp. There was a wariness about the party, but ultimately it felt like they trusted Jack. Exactly why Geoff had chosen him as his herald so long ago. They were led into the general assembly area, while Michael and several others in the party followed Jack to the King’s tent.

Jeremy still dreaded to think what had happened to Ryan.

 _“The same thing he did to me.”_ Geoff had said. _What did that mean?_

 

The men in Geoff’s camp were curious about the new party, but kept going about their business. Surely Geoff would have given a formal address by now to make his intentions of forging an alliance known – if that was still his intention. Jeremy wondered what he’d told the troops about Ryan; if he’d said anything about their meeting. It wasn’t until a handful noticed Jeremy that they began to attract real attention.

Voices of soldiers he knew, men he had trusted and fought alongside began to call out.

“Dooley? Shit, it’s true! Hey! Hey, check it out!”

_Shit. Geoff had definitely told them something._

Soon half the camp had begun to gather around, familiar faces and voices talking amongst themselves, but Jeremy couldn’t open his mouth to refute their words. He could only listen, and every comment stung.

“Sonovabitch.”

“I can’t believe it…”

“What a fucking snake.”

For someone whose worth was primarily measured in his physical feats and charisma, it was terrifying to him how helpless he felt. He wanted to dissolve into the floor of the cart. He drew his knees up and rested his forehead against them, trying to hide his face as much as possible, closing his eyes and trying to block out the comments.

It wasn’t until he heard one particular voice that he finally looked up.

“C’mon guys, give him a break.”

Trevor. They’d been close and Trevor was liked and trusted by Ryan as well. If Jeremy had anything even close to an ally at this point, Trevor was his best shot.

“Look!” Trevor wasn’t looking at Jeremy, he was gesturing to the King’s tent, where a small crowd had gathered. “At least see what the King has to say about it first.”

Geoff and Michael emerged from the tent and approached the square, but paused just out of earshot and were quickly surrounded by people. Both appeared to be in good spirits. The truce must have been a success. Jeremy guessed he was a part of the bargain.

After a short while, there was a roaring cheer and the crowd slowly began to dissipate, but a small, select group remained behind, moving closer to Geoff. Jeremy recognized them as many of his own men – Ryan’s select soldiers. The ones he watched over. Trevor was among them, the look on his face tense.

Michael had wandered back to his own men, but stayed close by, seemingly waiting for something. Jeremy’s stomach knotted in anticipation as a few glances were thrown his way.

Finally, Geoff and his men began to wander over. Jeremy was only just able to catch the end of Geoff’s speech to them as they came within earshot.

“…you think that deserves? I’d say, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth… But I wanna leave it up to you to decide.”

One of the soldiers smirked. “You heard him boys; wouldn’t want to displease our King now, would we?”

“He’s all yours.” Geoff waved them over.

_What had Geoff told them?_

Jeremy tried to form words through the stitches holding his lips shut, but he could only manage hums and grunts of protest, nothing remotely intelligible.

“You’re a fucking snake, Dooley, deserting on us like that. Never would’ve picked you for a coward.” One of them commented.

Another shook his head. “Figures, all that time around that rat bastard Ryan probably changed him.”

Jeremy shook his head in protest and tried again to speak, tearing at the stitches in his lips and cringing as the taste of blood seeped in again. He hissed breath through his nose and squeezed his eyes shut as Michael’s gaoler unlocked the prison cart and the men dragged him out, throwing him onto the dirt. He hit the ground shoulder-first, tucking his head into his chest and pulling his knees up in a defensive position.

One of the men kicked him in the ribs and barked at him to sit up.

_How had he fallen so far, so fast?_

His own men.

Jeremy tried not to think of them as his friends; tried to dissociate names and voices and faces. He didn’t want to remember them as the same people he’d joked with, fought with, trusted. He instead tried to think of them the same way he did of their foes in battle. Shadow people, a mix of voices, blank faces, shapes with the goal to hurt him. Enemies.

“What should we do to him?”

“I like the lips thing…”

“Thanks.” Michael stepped forward to explain. “ _Snitches get stitches_. It’s something of a tradition back home.”

“We should adopt that here…” Geoff mused.

Michael laughed. “It was Gavin’s idea actually, just a stupid thing he made up.”

 _Gavin_. Jeremy had heard Ryan talk about him. Supposedly he was better at managing civilian life and didn’t like to get his hands dirty. Ryan was wary; he didn’t think Gavin was as harmless as the rumours that surrounded him would have people believe. Jeremy was starting suspect he was right. Anyone who could turn a nonsense rhyme so viciously against a man was someone to keep an eye on.

“Snitches get stitches.” A few of the men repeated with laughter.

“I mean, that’s great, but shouldn’t we give him a chance to explain? See what he has to say for himself? We at least owe him that.”

“Do we?”

“You don’t take your King’s word for it, Trevor?”

“I just…”

“Nah, Trevor is right, let him talk.” Geoff interrupted, moving forward to indicate to the men to cut the stitches. “We can always re-stitch it.”

“It’s true, we can.” Michael snorted. “And _do_.”

Jeremy whimpered at the thought.

He was wrestled into a headlock and the stitches unpicked by an unnecessarily large blade, slicing through part of his lip in the process, blood collecting in the coarse hair of his beard before dripping from his chin.

He immediately coughed and spluttered, spitting blood from his mouth and licking his lips instinctively to try to ease the itch from the stitches. That was probably unwise.

“Alright Dooley; what’ve you got to say for yourself?”

Jeremy cleared his throat and rasped out, “Guys, please…” He looked around at them, eyes pleading for empathy, but finding little in return. “…I was only reporting to Ryan things that- it wasn’t anything bad… I was only doing what was right for-”

“So, you admit it.”

“…I...” Jeremy blinked a few times. “No… Yes, I was talking to Ryan, but it wasn’t like I was spying.”

“You were talking to him about us behind our back without our knowledge and in the middle of a war, I’d say that’s pretty close to spying.”

“We trusted you, Jeremy.”

That last voice sounded hurt. Jeremy didn’t have to look up to know it was Trevor.

“None of that even matters, he was conspiring with Ryan before he was King!”

Jeremy’s head snapped up. “What? No!”

“Lies. He helped Ryan try to murder the King. He’s guilty of treason. He’s one for the noose. Let him swing with Ryan if we catch him.”

_What?_

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves now,” Geoff said, interrupting them, “we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. This is _your_ chance to get even.”

Jeremy suddenly remembered his voice. “But Geoff murdered the king! He killed king Ryan!”

Geoff snorted a laugh and they all looked at him sceptically.

“Did you see it?”

“No, but-” _Why did his eloquence have to desert him now?_

“The way _we_ heard, Ryan was a coward; he fled as soon as King Ramsey threatened him with the noose. Seeing as how he committed treason and all…”

Jeremy shook his head. “You don’t understand, Ryan was doing what was right, he was trying to protect the kingdom – we don’t know if we can trust Michael, and we don’t even know what Gavin’s capable of!”

Michael scowled in the distance and held up his hands with a smirk.

“Enough, Dooley! We know where your loyalty lies and it’s not with the crown.”

_Well, that much was true._

“Guys, please, my loyalty is to you…”

“Then why were you spying on us to Ryan? What could you possibly be telling him in secret that you couldn’t tell him in front of us?”

“The truth!” Jeremy nearly screamed at them. “He just wanted to keep an eye on you, make sure morale was up, get to know how you actually were, I swear, that’s all…”

“Just keeping an eye on us then…?” The one who had accused him of treason nodded, feigning understanding. “Well, what was it our King said? An eye for an eye?”

Jeremy’s head whipped around, looking for anyone left that might be able to convince them to stop, to help him. Subconsciously, he was looking for Ryan.

Again, his head was grabbed by one of the soldiers and he was held still. Jeremy struggled, but the man’s forearm crushed against his windpipe until he stilled, gasping for breath.

Michael held up a hand and waved his medic over. Jeremy hadn’t noticed he’d come with the party, but he wasn’t surprised.

One of the soldiers laughed as the medic retrieved his needle and thread again, a few repeating the phrase “snitches get stitches” to each other, clearly delighted with the rhyme.

Again, Jeremy endured the process as his already bleeding lips were forced together again, the stitches pulled even tighter, or maybe it just felt that way because they already burned with the trauma he’d been through. The medic put the final stitches in and poured some more of the stinging fluid over the fresh wounds before stepping back.

Jeremy’s reprieve was short lived. His brain refused to acknowledge the soldier approaching him with the dagger. _An eye for an eye._ This wasn’t happening.

Geoff’s men advanced on him, holding him still and locking his head in place once more. Hard fingers pried his right eye open, holding the lids open and pulling them away from his eyeball so hard his vision blurred. The dagger pressed hard against the bone of his eye socket and carefully probed underneath the orb, the tip scraping against muscle and pressing his eye up into his skull. His tear ducts involuntarily went into overdrive, liquid streaming down his face in his body’s futile attempt to lubricate the rapidly drying surface of his eye. He thrashed, trying to shake them off him, but his head was trapped and held fast, other hands worked quickly to restrain him further. The soldier adjusted the angle of the dagger and, using it like a lever, carefully eased his eyeball away from the tissue, wiggling the blade underneath the eye itself, careful not to cut into it, just cutting around the flesh to separate the organ. It stung and he wanted to scream, but the fresh stitches in his mouth prevented him from making more than muffled cries while tears flowed freely down his face; the realization that they had him exactly where they wanted him and they could do anything to him finally hit home.

_No one is coming to save you, Jeremy. You have to hold on until you can save yourself._

With a twist of the dagger, he felt his eyeball pop from its socket, fingers grabbing at the slimy orb to pull it away, tugging on the optic nerve as the dagger worked quickly to sever the muscle tissue around it. His brain struggled to make sense of the input as he saw skin and hand and sky as his free eye was moved around the dagger cutting it out. The tugging sensation made Jeremy throw up in his mouth; hot, thin bile leaking through the stitches and burning his wounds. He swallowed what remained before he choked on it. In a way, it was a good thing, it had temporarily distracted him from the repeated slicing through his optic nerve. While it wasn’t painful as such, it was a sensation he never should have experienced and it make his insides churn. He nearly threw up again, but managed to hold it down as the fibres connecting his eyeball to his body finally snapped and gave way and his vision went dark and blurry. The soldier held up his prize to show the others. Jeremy’s own dark brown iris looked down at him, taunting.

Michael’s medic offered a jar and the soldier threw the eye in. A keepsake. The soldiers cheered and laughed.

It sounded like a childhood game. _“An eye for an eye, snitches get stitches.”_ It was twisted.

Jeremy’s body had broken out in a cold sweat and he was shaking all over. He’d been through so much already, he was amazed he was still conscious.

“Are you done with him? It’s up to you, remember?” Geoff prodded them.

“Well… he can’t keep an eye on anyone if he has no eyes.”

Geoff shrugged. “Your call.”

Trevor turned away but said nothing. Jeremy understood. It was pack mentality now, if he objected, they’d likely turn on him too. He was devastated, but couldn’t say he blamed him.

Jeremy stole one last look at the sky; the clouds beginning to streak shades of orange and pink from the setting sun, and tried to commit it to memory. It would be the last thing he ever saw.

 

In less than the span of one day, Jeremy had lost everything.


	5. Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ryan, Glitch  
> Prompt by Anonymous

Death tutted at the state Ryan had been left in.

She sighed, gathered him up in her arms and took him, quivering and in pain, away from the mortal realm. She had much work to do and knew he couldn’t stay long. Another destined for an eternity without truly knowing her touch.

_Poor, wretched soul._

* * *

The first thing Ryan noticed was the absence of pain. The absence of any feeling really. It was unnatural, ethereal. Like he was dreaming.

A shadowy figure held him. Without any physical feeling, it was comfortable. He felt safe. It was like the memory of a dear friend’s embrace after a long absence.

_I’m so sorry._

The sentiment filled him wordlessly and instantly, he understood.

_You can’t stay here._

“…But I want to.”

_Most do. But you cannot. You serve another now._

“What do you mean?”

_They call you back. I will see you again… many times, I think._

 

~

When Ryan opened his eyes, the memory faded as a dream might upon waking. He couldn’t make out the details, he was just left with a sense of what had happened, although the memory of the pain before he died was still crisply implanted in his mind.

_Died. He_ had _died._

But he was no longer dead.

_Geoff_. The Coward King.

He had a throne to reclaim and a war to win.

_But nothing would ever be that simple, would it?_

As soon as he gained awareness of his body, the pain flooded his mind. Not a memory. Actual, physical pain, dulled slightly by numbness and cold. He lay naked on the forest floor, surrounded by a ring of peculiar white trees – not that he had the presence of mind to pay any attention to them with his insides burning as they were.

He looked down.

He was alive, of that he was certain, but he was far from intact. Where his navel should have been, a gaping hole remained, pink around the edges as if in the process of healing. Through the wound he could see his organs, or what remained of them; the parts that were still intact were pulsing and the parts that weren’t oozed blackness. His whole body was shaking now. It hurt, but it was more a stark coldness he felt spreading throughout him, as he realised his vision was growing dimmer. He was dizzy and weak and in shock. He wasn’t going to make it.

_A bad dream._

He felt the overwhelming urge to sleep, curling into a ball and shutting his eyes.

 

~

Again, a sense of calm, unfeeling peace came over him. Safe in the arms of Death.

“What is this? What’s happening to me?”

_You’re healing. The damage was extensive…_

 “What do you mean? What is going on?”

_There’s only so much I can do before you’re called back. Life is a demanding master._

“What can I do?”

Death was silent for a moment, and Ryan felt the air fill with sympathy.

_Endure._

 

~

The pain was more pressing now, sharper. When he looked down, his body was externally mostly intact, fresh pink and silvery scar tissue replacing most of his torso, but he had no doubt there was something still horribly wrong with his insides.

He was beginning to put together the pieces.

Death had spared him, but not been able to heal him – not completely – and now, he was doomed to die again.

It explained why Geoff still had the scars from the Minotaur’s fatal wound. He’d healed, but only as far as was needed to survive. The pain he was in before he died attacked what remained of his nerves anew. With no willpower to hold it back, he let out a guttural howl of agony. He wasn’t long for this world and he knew it.

His body seized, folding tightly into a foetal position on his side, his muscles so tense he couldn’t even think to relax. He coughed and the taste of blood filled his mouth. His diaphragm spasmed and suddenly he couldn’t draw breath. Paralysed and involuntarily shuddering in unfathomable pain; his lungs burning for air they were unable to obtain. Was it worse than before? He couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t have long to ponder it as the world became fuzzy and less urgent, the pain more distant and he again fell into a blissful unconsciousness.

 

~

Ryan found himself once more in the warm and welcoming arms of Death.

“Is this what you meant when you said I’d be back?”

_I have precious little time to work._

“Please, please don’t send me back... Let me stay.”

_I cannot… It is no longer my place._

“Before, you said I serve another. Who? Who do I serve?”

_The one who forged the crown. They have their own demands of you._

“What demands?”

_Those, I know not… But blood begets blood. I fear this is only the beginning. You’re called back._

“No…”

_I’m sorry…_

~

Ryan awoke screaming this time. His nerves were on fire.

This time, he took much longer to die. His body, while now scarred but intact on the outside, was still recovering from the effects of Geoff’s potion on his insides. Death had healed him further, but it was still not enough. His internal organs still leaked and spilled over one another, his bones not yet fully formed, and now he had the added horror of a functioning nervous system to fully appreciate that. He noted he was in the same place he’d awoken previously. He was in too much pain to consider what it meant at the time, but he felt it was worth noting, as he spasmed and writhed in pain again. He felt everything until he passed out, the whole time crying for Death to have mercy on him.

 

~

“Help me.”

_I’ve never had to heal such wounds. I can only do so much in the time we have._

“How much time do we have?”

_Not enough. But the pain you are in will not last; over time it will come to mean nothing._

“What is happening to me?”

_Your body isn’t ready to be resurrected, it hasn’t been given a chance to heal. Most lethal wounds can be repaired in a single respawn… but your life was taken by another like you; one who knew his intentions._

“Geoff.”

The other said nothing, but there was silent acknowledgement.

Ryan remembered the war. Geoff’s plan to unite the Kingdoms

He wondered how many “respawns” it would take to heal to a survivable injury.

_Stay strong, Ryan._

 

~

Ryan awoke in agony again and again, each time a little more intact, surviving in pain a little bit longer until eventually, he didn’t die.

Either it no longer hurt to the point of being debilitating, or Ryan had grown accustomed to it, because the pain no longer prevented him from moving. He was able to sit up, stretch out and move around without too much discomfort. His head was pounding and the sun was setting and all he wanted to do was sleep it off; curl into a ball and forget this day ever happened, pretend for just a moment it wasn’t real. But nightfall would bring perils and away from the Kingdom – he presumed he was away from the Kingdom – and without any protection or supplies, he was vulnerable. He had to start moving. The air had a chill to it and he shivered, wrapping his arms around himself for warmth, and pulled himself to his feet. He started carefully picking his way through the forest, following the gentle slope of the terrain down, and recalling his younger days on the battlefield in far worse conditions. He’d survived those, he’d survive this.

_Or die trying... and try again._

For the first time, he let himself consider his newfound position. He was effectively immortal.

But so was Geoff.

He had to stop him.

First, he had to get back to civilisation. It was rapidly getting colder and he had nothing to protect him from the elements or the mobs that became active at nightfall.

_Get up, get moving._

Reluctantly, his feet trudged onward.

Where would he go? Jeremy was the only one he could trust. He hoped he’d been able to keep his position, his men would certainly back him up. Jeremy would surely be cunning enough to swear his allegiance to Geoff at the first opportunity, but Ryan had no doubt if he turned up, Jeremy would at least hear him out. They were first and foremost Battle Buddies after all.

Jeremy kept a civilian residence in the Kingdom, he’d pointed it out to Ryan more than once in passing; he would head there and wait for his friend’s return from the battlefield.

Jeremy would be able to help. He was counting on it.


End file.
